For the Love of a Rose
by ThornRose14
Summary: Phantom of the Opera AU. The Angel of Music cursed Adam to a life in the shadows due to his arrogance. Only when he writes a grand opera for another to perform will the spell be broken. When Belle arrives at the opera house years later he knows she will be the one to perform his work. He teaches her to sing, falling in love with her in the process. Can he earn her love in return?
1. Overture

**For the Love of a Rose**

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 **Summary:** Adam Leroux was one of the most talented male opera singers in France, and he knew it. One night the Angel of Music cursed him to a life in the shadows due to his arrogance, where he was to remain, disfigured, until he can learn humility by writing music for another to perform. Years later, when Belle arrives at the opera house he knows that she will be the one to break his curse, so he teaches her to sing in order for her to perform his work. Only when she performs it and he can learn to appreciate others will the spell be broken.

 **A/N:** This is an idea that came to me while watching _Phantom of the Opera_ about a month ago. I have been debating whether I should post it because I am quite fond of it, but nervous about whether it will be something people would want to read. I've decided to post it because it simply will not leave me alone. Adam/Phantom's story just needs to be told, I guess. Anyway, I will obviously continue on with _When the Last Petal Falls,_ but this will be my other work for now. Please let me know what you think!

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 **Overture: Many Years Ago**

Adam Leroux waited in the wings of the Opera Populaire for his cue to enter the stage. He could feel the anticipation rising, building in his core, waiting to be let out. He lived for the rush of performance. The wild applause of the audience after he'd performed Robert Cambert's _Pomone,_ or Jean-Babtiste Lully's _Cadmus et Hermione_ was a drug that he simply could not get enough of.

That night the cast was performing another of Lully's work entitled _Armide._ It was an ambitious piece about one woman's love for a man she once hated, who calls upon the Goddess of Hate herself to make her fall out of love with him.

Though not the center star of the opera, Adam's part in the work was substantial. By the end of any performance he was able to draw the audience's eyes to him. He knew that night would be no exception.

When it was his turn, Adam sauntered on to the stage, comfortably slipping into his role as though he'd been born to play it.

By the encore, the audience began throwing all assortment of flowers at the performers' feet. Adam noticed proudly that most of the flowers landed by him. He was vaguely aware of the others throwing him annoyed looks, but he paid them no heed. He was too caught up in the moment. The audience loved him. Why should anything else matter?

When the audience finally finished applauding and throwing their tokens of affection upon the stage, the curtain drew to a close and Adam's fellow cast members marched off to their dressing rooms.

Adam followed them, but not before gathering the most elegant of flowers from the stage to take back to his dressing room.

A few people, both cast and crew, stopped to congratulate him on a wonderful performance, but he was hardly bothered to reply. He merely muttered a vague, "I know," to a woman who told him he was the true star of the show, not noticing the disgusted scowl she shot at his retreating back.

He arrived at his dressing room a moment later. His first order of business was replacing the flowers he'd taken after the previous day's performance with the ones in his hand. Once that was accomplished he proceeded to change out of his costume.

The moment he had changed back into his every day attire, there was a soft knock on his door. He swept to his feet, suspecting that he was about to greet another admirer. He occasionally received people at his door insisting upon showering him with praise even hours after a performance. It seemed tonight would be no exception.

Adam put on a dazzling smile and swung open his door, expecting to find a horde of giggling young women, as was his usual crowd. Instead there was a single cloaked figure. He or she was dressed all in black with the hood was pulled over the head, making it impossible to distinguish the gender. He paused momentarily at the odd sight, but recovered himself quickly.

"Hello there. Have you come for an autograph?"

The figure did not answer. Adam stared, waiting for some type of response, but when none came he became agitated.

"I have had a long night, so if you do not wish to say anything I will be on my…"

"You do not appreciate the talents of others."

The statement was so bold, so final, that it took Adam by surprise. He could only stare, unsure of what to say. The figure seemed content to wait for a reply because it did not move. Despite not seeing any eyes, Adam could feel the figure's penetrating stare burning into him.

"You do not know anything about me!" he exclaimed angrily, and began to slam the door on the imposing figure.

Only the door did not close.

It came to a casual halt in the middle of its progress, then swung almost lazily back to its previous position, so that the hallway, and mysterious figure haunting it, was in plain view.

Adam gaped, truly alarmed though he tried hard not to show it. "Who are you?"

"I am the Angel of Music, and I am here to show you the error of your ways."

Suddenly all light was extinguished, both in the hallway and in Adam's dressing room. He started, looking wildly around him. He did not like being unable to see the figure who he somehow knew instinctively was responsible for the abrupt blackout. His suspicions were confirmed seconds later when his eyes adjusted to the darkness. The first place he looked was the spot where the mysterious Angel of Music had stood.

It was empty.

"If this is some kind of practical joke, it is not funny!" he exclaimed, hating the waver of fear in his voice. He glanced frantically down both sides of the hallway, finding it empty. Maybe the strange person had disappeared or decided not to proceed with the joke it obviously thought would be funny. He took a deep breath before trying again to close the dressing room door. That time, it closed without incident.

Thinking he was alone at last, he turned around to grab the last of his things, his pace considerably quicker than it otherwise would have been, but he stopped in his tracks at the sight of the figure who had somehow managed to enter his dressing room without crossing the threshold.

"What is this?" Adam demanded, truly alarmed now.

"You do not appreciate the talents of others," the figure repeated. The voice seemed to surround Adam, coming at him from all directions. "You are spoiled, selfish, and unkind. Your arrogance knows no bounds."

The Angel of Music paused, as though somehow daring Adam to deny anything that had been said thus far.

Adam did not respond, mostly because all ability to speak seemed to have been taken from him.

"To learn the error of your ways, I relegate you to a life in the shadows, where you will learn humility and modesty. Your appearance will be scarred in order for you to overcome your vanity. The more you try to resist, the worse your appearance will become." The Angel of Music paused to let the words sink in.

Almost immediately, Adam felt a searing pain on the right side of his face. He cried out in anguish, hunching down and automatically bringing his hands to his face. He was horrified to find that there were jagged scars running along his cheek from his jawline to his cheekbone. His cries worsened when he felt part of nose scar in a similar manner.

"H-How long must I endure this agony?" Adam begged minutes later, once the scarring finally abated.

"Your curse will end when you learn to appreciate others, and not just yourself. You will do this by composing a grand opera for another to star in. You will write the greatest piece the world has ever known, and you will do it knowing you will not be the star. Only when this is accomplished will the curse be lifted."

The Angel of Music clapped its hands together, and Adam felt a strange warm flow through him. For a moment nothing happened, and then he seemed to be floating through time itself. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of air rushing around him.

When he opened his eyes he was no longer in his dressing room. He now found himself somewhere cold, damp, and very dark.

When he finally got up the courage to explore his new surroundings, he found that the place he assumed was a dark sewer was actually a labyrinth of tunnels that seemed to go on forever. He explored, hating the smell of his damp surroundings, and stopped what felt like hours later, when he came upon a large opening with a dingy bed and an old piano.

The implication was clear enough.

Adam walked to the bed and curled his lip in disgust. How long would he be relegated to this moldy existence? Why was this happening to him? There were plenty of other conceited opera singers in the country. Why couldn't this have happened to one of them?

Questions flowed through his mind at a rate faster than he was able to process them. How long was he supposed to work on this opera? Who would perform his work? How could he get another to sing when he was relegated to the shadows? He almost wished the Angel of Music would reappear, if only to demand the answers to these questions.

His only hope was for his fellow cast members to question his disappearance and go searching for him. Surely he would not be _that_ hard to find?

Little did he know that the Angel of Music erased all trace of the great Adam Leroux from the minds of everyone who ever met him. He was no more the most popular male opera singer in the country of France. To all who had once known him, he was nothing more than a ghost.

Adam lost all track of time. As the years passed, he did not lift a finger to write the opera he'd been assigned. For a time he merely wallowed in self-pity, hardly bothered to get out of the bed that was now his own.

He was only bothered to rise the day the faintest whisper of a cry carried down into his chambers. It was a cry that was so sad, so full of despair, that it seemed to echo the feelings that had been stirring inside his own being for years. When he stood and came up from the bowels of the opera house for the first time in what felt like decades, he was surprised to find a young girl.

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as she knelt in the chapel of the opera house. She knelt before a single lit candle, her hands held together in an obvious prayer. Other than the trembling and occasional sob that escaped from her lips, Adam would otherwise have never known she was there. Her dark brown hair hung past her shoulders, and her wide brown eyes were full of tears.

And he knew without having to be told that she was the one who would perform his work. All he had to do was teach her to sing and wait until she was older. He would make her the greatest singer the world had ever known.


	2. I: Think of Me

**For the Love of a Rose**

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 **Summary:** Adam Leroux was one of the most talented male opera singers in France, and he knew it. One night the Angel of Music cursed him to a life in the shadows due to his arrogance, where he was to remain, disfigured, until he can learn humility by writing music for another to perform. Years later, when Belle arrives at the opera house he knows that she will be the one to break his curse, so he teaches her to sing in order for her to perform his work. Only when she performs it and he can learn to appreciate others will the spell be broken.

 **A/N:** Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm so glad you liked it! A couple notes about the story going forward. First off, I changed Chip's gender. He is now Charlotte, and he is the daughter of Mrs. Potts. Those familiar with _Phantom of the Opera_ will understand why. Next, parts of the story may seem different and that is mainly because I do not want to take dialogue word for word from the musical. The ideas and themes are the same, and some of the dialogue may be similar, but I did not want it word for word. I think that's it for now. Read and enjoy!

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 **Chapter One: Think of Me**

Belle Daae knew she would remember the moment she saw the three men arrive at the opera house for the rest of her life. They came upon the stage, interrupting the rehearsal for that night's performance of the opera _Hannibal_ as though it were something they did everyday.

The first two men walked out together, the very opposite of each other. The first man was tall, blond, and walked elegantly with both hands clasped importantly behind his back. His green eyes sparkled as they scanned the stage and the people he'd just interrupted upon it. The second man was short and plump, with dark brown hair and thin lips pressed together in a very thin line. His thick eyebrows were pinched together, giving him the appearance of someone who had just seen something he very much disapproved of.

The third man walked a ways behind them, though it was quite obvious to Belle that he was the most important one among them. His long black hair was tied behind his head in a ponytail, and he wore a long red overcoat that only made him appear all the more masculine. He demanded respect just by the way he walked. His green eyes gave away none of his thoughts. Whether he loved or hated what he saw was a mystery to anyone who laid eyes upon him.

"Everyone, please gather around!" Andre Chapeau, the manager of the Opera Populaire commanded his company once the three newcomers had made their grand entrance.

Carlotta De Garderobe, the diva and lead soprano of the opera, rolled her eyes and huffed at the prospect of delaying her grand solo, but followed orders and joined the others. Belle was careful to keep her distance, staying close to her best and oldest friend Charlotte Potts. Charlotte was a fellow ballet dancer, as well as the daughter of Madam Potts, the chief choreographer of the ballet. Madam Potts had been something of a mother to Belle since her father's untimely death at the young age of nine. Belle and her daughter Charlotte had been fast friends ever since.

"Well, I guess the time has finally come," Chapeau began, sounding both awkward and relieved. "I have some rather sad news to pass along to you all. I have decided to retire after a lengthy career as manager of this opera house."

He paused to let the news sink in, for everyone had let out a collective breath and began muttering to themselves. Belle did not turn to Charlotte or the other girls of the ballet. The news was surprising, but not too unexpected. She knew Chapeau was tired and spoke often about wanting to move to Australia, where the weather was considerably warmer. She would be sad to see him go; he'd always been kind toward her and made her laugh with his quirky sense of humor.

"I assure you that I will leave you in very capable hands," Chapeau went on once the muttering began to die down. "May I introduce Monsieur Lumiere," He pointed to the tall blond man. " And Monsieur Cogsworth," he gestured to the short plump man. "They are to be your new managers."

Polite applause followed the announcement. Lumiere and Cogsworth took it as their cue to step forward. Lumiere was the first to speak. "We are quite excited at the prospect of working with everyone. Monsieur Chapeau assures us that we will not find another talented group of people anywhere."

More muttering followed this, as well as the occasional laugh.

"He's quite handsome," Charlotte whispered in Belle's ear. Belle nodded, though she had yet to take her eyes off the third, yet unnamed man who chose to remain in the shadows.

Carlotta de Garderobe decided that she'd been silent long enough, for she immediately stepped up to both men and said, "Thank you very much, Monsieurs. You will not be disappointed. Shall I sing for you? Consider it my way of introducing myself."

Belle and Charlotte exchanged knowing looks. They both knew the older woman could not resist showing off whenever the opportunity arose. In Belle's opinion, she was quite overrated and not nearly as good a singer as everyone thought she was.

The rest of the cast stepped back while Madam de Garderobe took her place in the center of the semi-circle they'd made around her. The introductory music swelled around them, and Belle watched as the diva closed her eyes, as she always did before she was about to sing.

Belle tried not to wince as the woman's over the top vibrato filled the air. When she looked at Charlotte, she saw her old friend's lips twist together in an effort to keep from laughing. Belle wanted nothing more than to tell Madam de Garderobe that she was not as good as she thought she was, but that would start a confrontation she was not willing to have. She thought of her own private teacher and had a sudden longing to sing. The Angel assured her that her time would come and that she only needed to be patient, but it didn't stop the desire from welling up inside her. The only time she truly felt alive and whole was when she was singing. Dancing was fine, but it did not fill her with the same warmth that singing brought.

A startled scream broke her from her musings, and she jumped as part of the lighting fixture crashed on the stage, missing the lead soprano by inches.

"Madam!" Lumiere and Cogsworth rushed over to her at once. "Are you okay?"

Madam Potts immediately looked up at the ceiling where the light fixture had been moments ago. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded of the maintenance man.

"I promise you, I had nothing to do with it!" he hurriedly exclaimed. "I was not at my post! I went out back to check on some faulty wiring."

Belle looked up too, and nearly fell over from shock at what she would swear later was the billowing of a large black cape.

"He's here," Charlotte whispered in her ear, and Belle knew she'd seen the same thing. "The phantom of the opera."

"Madam, these things happen," Lumiere pointed out helplessly, for Madam de Garderobe's face and scrunched up and turned red. Belle knew another famous tantrum was about to occur.

"Yes," she spat. "For the past three years these things have happened. And nothing has been done to stop them!" She pointed a finger at Chapeau, who merely looked resigned. "He never did anything to stop these little accidents, and I'm sure you two," she pointed her finger at Lumiere and Cogsworth, "will likely be no better."

She immediately began pacing the length of the stage, though she did not get far by the time she finally noticed the third man, who'd watched the scene play out with something close to humor. At least that was the emotion Belle saw in his eyes.

And that was when it hit her. She _knew_ this man. He was Gaston de Chagny, her childhood friend from back before her father passed away. Her heart skipped a beat as his gaze fell upon her, but he looked away so quickly she was sure he hadn't truly seen her.

"And who are you?" Carlotta demanded.

"Ah," Chapeau said, as though the business with the light fixture had not happened. "That brings me to my next announcement. Monsieur de Chagny here is to be our new patron. Well, I should say _your_ patron, since I will be leaving for Australia tomorrow morning."

At that, Gaston stepped forward at last, causing Belle's heart to flutter yet again. "Hello," he said, his voice instantly sending the other ballet girls into giggles. "I'm honored to support this opera, and I look forward to getting to know all of you a little better."

"You will not be getting to know me!" Madam de Garderobe burst out at once. "Until the matter of these little accidents are stopped, I will not be singing!"

Lumiere and Cogsworth looked horrified. If the situation weren't so serious Belle would have laughed at the desperation on their faces. They'd obviously not known what they were stepping into.

"What do we do?" they hissed as Carlotta began pacing the stage again, murmuring threats of leaving and complaining about how poorly she'd been treated in her three years at the opera house.

"Grovel," Chapeau answered simply.

Belle watched with the rest of the cast as Lumiere and Cogsworth rushed to the woman whose muttering was getting louder and louder. No one noticed the letter that fluttered down from the rafters, landing at Madam Potts's feet.

"Gentlemen," she said, cutting the groveling short. "I have a message from the opera ghost."

"The what?" Lumiere and Cogsworth asked at the same time.

Madam Potts, who already had the envelope opened and the letter pulled out, began reading. "He welcomes you to his opera house, and reminds you that his salary is due."

"His salary?" Lumiere asked.

" _His_ opera house?" Cogsworth spat.

"This is what I am talking about!" Madam de Garderobe exclaimed, sounding quite exasperated. "For the past three years they have talked nonsense about this _opera ghost,_ who causes all these accidents! Well, until you stop these accidents from happening, I will not be singing!"

"Madam, no! Please," Lumiere begged.

"I have made up my mind. You will get someone else to sing, or you will cancel because I will not be singing tonight!"

And with that, Carlotta de Garderobe turned on her heels and stormed out of the opera house, her small entourage following behind her.

When she was gone, Lumiere and Cogsworth looked at each other helplessly.

"Well, gentlemen. Good luck. If you need me, I shall be in Australia." Chapeau followed Carlotta out of the opera house.

Lumiere and Cogsworth looked on the verge of tears. "What shall we do?"

"We shall have to refund a full house," Cogsworh said, sounding as though the very idea would be the death of him. "We will never find someone who could sing by tonight!"

"Belle Daae could sing it, sirs," Madam Potts spoke up. She moved to stand behind Belle and put her hands on her shoulders.

"A chorus girl? Don't be ridiculous," Cogsworth said, waving off the suggestion.

"She has been well taught," Madam Potts argued. She was the only one who knew Belle received private instruction. Not even Charlotte knew. Belle had hoped to keep it secret a little longer. As much as she longed to sing, she hadn't expected to sing that night. The idea was both daunting and exhilarating. "Let her sing for you."

Lumiere and Cogsworth both looked as though they wanted to argue further, but they refrained. Instead they gestured for her to step forward.

"You'll do fine," Madam Potts whispered in Belle's ear before pushing her gently to the center of the stage.

Belle swallowed her fear and made sure she did not look at Gaston as she took a few steps forward. The Angel had taught her the solo Carlotta was to sing for the opera, but it did not make the prospect of singing it aloud for everyone to hear any easier. She took a deep breath and began singing before her nerves got the better of her.

Once she began singing, her fear slipped away. She felt herself fall into the role, letting the music wrap itself around her, until she saw or felt nothing else. By the time she was done everyone had burst into applause. Lumiere and Cogsworth both swept her up and made arrangements for Carlotta's wardrobe to be fitted for her instead.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirl. Belle's part in the ballet was given to one of the many younger girls who'd been waiting for a spot to open up while Belle was fitted for her costumes. She went over lines with Madam Potts, who was confident enough in the ballet that she did not need to watch any more rehearsal. Mrs. Potts said nothing about the Angel or the phantom as she did so, which Belle was grateful for.

Soon it time for the performance. Belle's nerves had returned, and no matter how hard she tried to reassure herself that this was the opportunity she'd been waiting for, she could not get rid of them.

"You'll be fine," Charlotte consoled her just before the curtain rose. "You are much better than Madam de Garderobe."

As the opera began, Belle felt as though she were living in a dream. None of it felt real. She kept expecting to wake up at any moment, finding herself back in the dormitories of the opera house. She reminded herself that she was not in a dream, and when the time came for her solo her nerves finally melted away. As the music swelled around her once more, she could feel the presence of her tutor. Her father had promised her on his deathbed that she would be visited by the Angel of Music. This was the proof if it. She was singing the lead solo of a world renowned opera. She wished her father were here to see her perform. She knew he would be proud of her.

Belle smiled as roses and other assortments of flowers were thrown on the stage as she finished. She felt like crying as the audience shouted their approval of her performance. No matter how many times she curtsied they did not stop or die down. By the time Madam Potts motioned for her to leave the stage did the applauding stop.

Belle felt as though she were walking on a cloud as the rest of the cast congratulated her and told her she was magnificent. She thanked each of them then exchanged a knowing look with Madam Potts. Her teacher would want to speak to her about her performance, and she was eager for what he had to say. Would he say she was great? Or would he point out her faults?

She supposed there was only one way to find out. She steeled herself as she slipped away upstairs, the fading discussions about her exemplary performance trailing behind her.


	3. II: Angel of Music

**For the Love of a Rose**

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 **Summary:** Adam Leroux was one of the most talented male opera singers in France, and he knew it. One night the Angel of Music cursed him to a life in the shadows due to his arrogance, where he was to remain, disfigured, until he can learn humility by writing music for another to perform. Years later, when Belle arrives at the opera house he knows that she will be the one to break his curse, so he teaches her to sing in order for her to perform his work. Only when she performs it and he can learn to appreciate others will the spell be broken.

 **A/N:** I want to say thank you once again to everyone who has responded to this story in one way or another. I was unsure about it, but you have convinced me it is a story worth telling. Believe me, there is plenty to tell! I won't say anything else. Read, enjoy, and please let me know what you think! All responses are appreciated.

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 **Chapter Two: Angel of Music**

Belle never felt closer to her father than she did in the chapel. Whenever she lit a candle in his name she felt as though he stood right beside her, guiding her in everything she did. Though it had been nine years since his death, it sometimes felt like it had only just happened. There were days in which the loss felt fresh and new, and she did not think she would ever get over it.

That night she felt the loss especially vividly. She knew she'd only been visited by the Angel of Music because her father sent him to her. On his deathbed, he'd promised that he would send the Angel of Music to her. Not long after Madam Potts brought her to live at the Opera Populaire, she'd been visited by a being calling himself the Angel of Music and said that he'd been sent at the behest of her father. She was to be a great singer, he'd told her when she was still a child. She would only get better under his tutelage.

And so Belle let the Angel of Music teach her everything he could about singing and music. She'd grown to love singing, loved it even more than dancing. She'd always felt a connection to the stage, but when she'd sung the solo in front of a sold out audience she had felt truly alive for the first time, and even now when she was back in the chapel of the opera house, hours later, that feeling stayed within her. She did not ever want it to go away.

"I wish you could have been here tonight, Father," Belle murmured solemnly as she lit the same candle as she did most nights she came down here. "You would have loved it."

Maurice Daae had once been the most accomplished violinist in all of France. He'd performed in the pit orchestra of the most popular operas, and toward the end of his career he'd even performed a few solo performances, though those had been rare. Belle had always loved watching her father play the violin because he'd had a light about him that he never did when not playing his instrument. Even as a young girl Belle had truly believed he loved playing even more than he'd loved her. She never blamed him for it. After all, it was his passion and his greatest joy in life. He'd wanted to see that joy passed down to her, but he'd died before he could see his daughter's love of music grow.

"You were wonderful."

The soft voice was little more than a whisper, and seemed to come from everywhere at once. It surrounded her, as it always did, whenever the Angel visited her. She'd never seen him in person, but his soft voice had always been enough proof that he was real.

"Do you think so?" Belle's own voice held both hope and a little bit of desperation. She'd always yearned for his approval.

"I would not have said it if it were otherwise. You still have a long way to go, but tonight was a step in the right direction. You mustn't let success go to your head, however. It takes more than once performance to be truly great."

"I want to know more," Belle whispered, and was about to get to her feet when she heard soft footsteps coming up the winding staircase leading into the chapel. She felt rather than heard the Angel's departure, and tried to repress her disappointment. Charlotte's timing was always impeccable where the Angel of Music was concerned.

"Belle!" she exclaimed as she reached the top of the stairs and joined her by the row of candles. "You were magnificent! Where in the world did you learn to sing so beautifully?"

Belle hesitated, staring at the flame of the candle. She wanted to tell her best friend about her mysterious tutor, but he'd always warned her not to tell anyone about him. His visits were infrequent and rare, only gifted to those with the most promising talent. If everybody knew about him or the fact that he made visits to those he only deemed the most worthy, they would send nightly prayers begging for his blessing and would drive themselves mad with longing. Belle did not want that for Charlotte, and neither did Madam Potts. The older woman was the only other person who knew about Belle's private lessons.

But Belle knew she would have to tell Charlotte something. She would never believe that Belle had come into the talent all on her own, nor would she believe that Belle went somewhere else in secret to receive the lessons because they were together almost all of the time.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she said at last.

Charlotte nodded eagerly, her blue eyes wide in heavy anticipation.

"You must swear not to tell anybody," Belle went on, feeling suddenly nervous. She felt the Angel's presence all around her. He would not approve of her confession, but she hoped he would understand. The fact of their lessons could not stay a secret forever.

"I promise. Now what is it?"

Belle bit her lip, but opened her mouth to speak a moment later. "When my father died, before your mother brought me here to live, he told me of a being who comes to those he chooses, and teaches them what they wish to know of music. He called that being the Angel of Music. He said that after he died I would be visited by him."

She paused at the awe that crept upon Charlotte's face. She didn't know whether or not her friend believed her, or if she was only enraptured in what she thought was a tall tale. She went on, deciding she did not want to know the answer.

"My father is dead, Charlotte," she said, trying not to wince at the words. It never felt real. "And I have been visited by the Angel of Music."

"You mean…" Charlotte began, and she chewed her lip as though she were trying to find the right words. "That your tutor is…an angel?"

"Must be, if he calls himself the Angel of Music," Belle answered, feeling a rush of elation at the fact that she'd finally confided her greatest secret to her best friend. It felt as though an invisible wall had lifted between them and they could see each other clearly for the first time.

"I used to dream about him," she confessed after another moment passed, this one much more awkward. "When I first came to the opera house I used to dream about the Angel. Then, the first night after I lit a candle in my father's memory, he came to me. And he's been coming to me ever since. Even now, I can feel his presence."

The awe in Charlotte's face disappeared at Belle's words. Skepticism and a hint of fear replaced it. Belle, seeing it, added hastily, "I know it sounds crazy. But your mother knows. She's seen him as well. She covers for me during our lessons so that the rest of the ballet is not missing us."

"Why didn't either of you say something? I would have kept your secret," Charlotte replied, sounding hurt.

"I wanted to, but the Angel of Music swore me to secrecy. No one can know about him. Otherwise everyone would expect a visit."

Charlotte shook her head. "I wouldn't have. I only would have looked out for you, as my mother has done. Surely you thought I could handle it?"

"Of course I did!" Belle hastily reassured her. "I wanted to tell you. But the Angel of Music is very strict. He won't like that I've told you even now. But I could not keep the secret any longer."

Belle was acutely aware of the Angel's presence at that moment, and knew he was displeased. She did not dare look around in case she spotted him and saw the anger and disappointment that would no doubt coat his features. She would see it soon enough when they were alone.

Charlotte did not reply, and for what felt like an eternity they merely sat together in silence, both young women lost in thought.

It was Charlotte who spoke first, sounding unsure. "Belle, how do you know this mysterious being is not merely someone who is fooling you? How do you know it truly is the Angel of Music and not an impostor?"

Belle considered the question. The same thought had occurred to her once before, when she'd first learned about the opera ghost, or phantom of the opera. She had thought the phantom and the Angel were one and the same, though she'd never dared voice that suspicion out loud. Over the years she'd convinced herself they were not the same person. The phantom was nothing more than a man calling himself the phantom, whereas the Angel was a being above mortal man. She could always feel his presence, even when he was not making himself known.

She said as much to Charlotte, whose look of skepticism only grew. "Belle, you're talking nonsense," she said after a while, her voice soft, as though she were talking to a frightened animal she didn't wish to spook. "Normally you're the voice of reason, so I cannot understand why you think your tutor is…well, supernatural."

Belle suppressed a sigh. She'd been afraid Charlotte would not believe her, which had been a risk she'd taken when she confessed the identity of her secret teacher. "I don't know, Charlotte. All I know is that my father told me I would be visited by the Angel, and I have been visited by someone who goes by the Angel of Music. What else could it be?"

From the quizzical look on Charlotte's face, she had a number of guesses about Belle's teacher's identity. She seemed to realize that Belle was not ready to let go of her beliefs, so she merely said, "You must be cold after being up here for so long."

She stood up and took Belle's hands in hers to help her up. "I was right. Your hands are like ice. Let me take you back to your room. You need to change."

Belle looked down as Charlotte guided her out of the chapel and back down the winding staircase. She was indeed still in her last costume from the opera, which was a gorgeous floor length white ball gown that sparkled and glittered when it caught light. There were matching white jewels that decorated her hair as well, which both Charlotte and Madam Potts helped her out of once they'd returned to her dressing room.

After Charlotte left to change out of the ballet dress from the opera, Belle was left alone with Madam Potts, who gave her a very knowing look.

"He is pleased with you," she said simply.

A sudden warmth filled Belle's chest at the praise, despite hearing it from the Angel for herself back in the chapel.

"He said I still have a long way to go," Belle replied, trying not to let her hopes get too high. "He said one performance does not make me great."

"And he is quite right, my dear," Madam Potts replied gently as she continued taking the last of the jewels from Belle's hair. "But you performed better than even he could have hoped, I think. Do not take that lightly."

Belle caught Madam Potts's eye through the mirror as the older woman took the last of the jewels out and placed it gently on her nightstand.

"He will find you later, so I would get some rest."

Belle bade her good night, and she was left alone at last. She wanted nothing more than to change into her nightgown and fall asleep, but those hopes were dashed at the abrupt knocking on her door.

Inwardly Belle groaned, though she managed a polite, "Come in," to whoever waited to greet her.

It was Gaston de Chagny. Belle's heart instantly did a little flutter inside her chest.

"I wondered if it was you up there. You don't look anything like your father, so I did not know at first, though I suspected," Gaston began as he strode briskly into the room. "Then I remembered how much you wanted to sing when you were younger and knew it was you. The talent for music in your family is remarkable."

"Gaston," Belle smiled warmly at him, though she did not get up from her chair. She was suddenly tired from the night's events, despite the reunion with her old childhood friend.

"Is that the greeting I get after nine long years apart?"

He did not wait for an answer as he walked over to her and enveloped her in a warm hug. Belle tried her best to match his enthusiasm as she returned his hug. When he finally let go and righted himself he looked around her dressing room in obvious appraisal.

"So this is where you went after your father died," he mused, more to himself than to Belle. "I'd always wondered where you went. I tried searching for you, though a young boy could only do so much. By the time I was old enough to strike out on my own, the trail was cold and no one knew where you'd gone. It's only by a stroke of good luck that we've been reunited at last."

He sat down in the chair she'd vacated and stared at her so intensely that she finally had to look away. "You never showed any desire to dance as a child. Why were you brought here?"

Belle shrugged. It was not a story she enjoyed telling, but it was short and would hopefully deplete his barrage of questions. "Madam Potts is a distant relation of my mother's. Father wrote to her when he realized he was not going to get better and begged her to take me in once he passed. She came to our home and stayed with us for a week before my father passed away. She heeded his request and brought me to the Opera Populaire, where we live to this day."

Belle read something in his eyes that she did not like, which compelled her to say defensively, "I've been grateful to her ever since. She taught me to dance, and arranged for me to receive vocal lessons as well. I would not have done better anywhere else."

Gaston raised his arms in a gesture of surrender. "I have no doubt of that. Please take no offense at my earlier words. People can change easily enough. If this is what you want for yourself, I certainly will not step in the way of that. But we should have a drink to become reacquainted better," he said, changing the subject. "I'll have my carriage drawn up."

"No, Gaston," Belle said as Gaston stood to leave. "My…tutor." She hesitated to call him the Angel of Music in front of Gaston, knowing that he would scoff and think she was crazy if she repeated her earlier story from the chapel to him. "He does not wish for me to be out late on the night between performances. He says it will reduce the quality of my singing."

"I shall not keep you late. Surely he will not bemoan you a chance to reunite with a childhood friend." He laughed as he said, "I will be a minute at most. I'll knock when it is time to go."

Gaston left before Belle could object further.

When he departed the room felt emptier than it ever had, and Belle was overcome with a rush of loneliness. She sat down, uneasy all of a sudden. She did not know why, but the room seemed darker and more ominous. Was she about to receive a visit from the Angel of Music?

Her silent question was answered almost at once by a loud, booming voice that surrounded her, as it always seemed to do.

"What an insolent boy, to revel in your success! Who does he think he is, that he can celebrate your debut as his own?"

"I'm sorry, Angel," Belle said at once, looking around the room as she always did when confronted with his incorporeal voice. "He left before I could say anything to stop him. I'm sorry if I gave him the wrong impression. When he returns I will tell him I cannot go with him."

The voice was silent for a minute before speaking up again. "It is not your fault, my dear. Men like that seem to think the world is indebted to them just for having been born with good fortune. They think success is easy and is only at their fingertips. They know nothing of hard work and dedication, which is why he cannot take no for an answer."

"No," Belle blurted before she could stop herself. "Gaston is not like that. He would never think…"

"Oh, but he does. Over time you will come to learn this for yourself. Men like him do not deserve your time. He will only disappoint you."

"At least I can see him when I talk to him!" Belle exclaimed, feeling a sudden anger she did not know had been directed at her Angel. "He shows me his face when he talks to me, which is more than I can say for you. Will you not show yourself?"

"You will know me, my child. The time has come. You need only look in the mirror, and you will see me."

As if his words had been a cue, the mirror was illuminated as though by magic, and the unmistakable silhouette of a man was where her reflection should have been. Belle could only stare, completely entranced. He held out his hand, right out of the mirror. It was quite steady as it waited for Belle's hand.

She reached out, hesitant and unsure about what she would find when she touched him. Her nerves turned out to be for nothing because she only felt warmth when she touched his gloved hand. She let him guide her through the mirror and into the labyrinth of tunnels underneath the opera house.


End file.
